University of Virginia Library

IX.
THE OLD CHAPEL.

In a few minutes we had rejoined the band. At
a sign from Landon the men moved obliquely into
the grassy field where the turf muffled the hoof-strokes
and sound of wheels.

“No noise,” said Landon, in a low tone; “wait
for the word.”

And, placing himself in front, he drew his sabre,
and advanced rapidly toward the Chapel.

Suddenly, as they approached the sycamore screen
near the low fence, a blue horseman, evidently an
officer, galloped out, and cried: —

“What command is that?”

“I will show you,” returned Landon.

And, with a whirl of the sabre, he shouted: —

“Charge!”

At the word the men uttered a yell, dug the
spur into their horses, and, passing like a tornado
beneath the vault of foliage, rushed up the hill,
firing a volley as they did so into the picket. They
then closed in with the sabre, and an obstinate combat,
hand to hand, followed. It was a weird affair.

The moonlight lit up every figure, and the very expressions
of the combatants' faces were clearly visible
as they fought hilt to hilt.

Landon had only half surprised them, and nothing
but his desperate fighting made the result doubtful.
The enemy were closing around him; his horse, shot
through the head, was staggering, and on the point
of hurling his rider beneath the trampling hoofs,
when suddenly a volley resounded from the enemy's
rear, and Arden, at the head of his horsemen, darted
upon them with the drawn sabre.

The result was such as almost invariably follows a
surprise. The Federal cavalry gave back, scattered
in every direction, and retreated, pursued by
the Partisans, at whose head was Landon, mounted
on a captured horse, and cutting down everything in
his path.

The pursuit continued for half a mile, when a
shrill whistle resounded, and the men quickly drew
rein. That whistle was London's signal, as it was
Colonel Mosby's, to “rally on the Chief,” as is the
cavalry phrase.

In a few minutes the larger portion of the band
had assembled on the hill near the Chapel, and every
man was accompanied by horses and prisoners.

Landon called to Arden, and the young man
hastened up.

“Send the prisoners and horses to the rear, without

delay, lieutenant, and detail a party to dig the
graves!” he said.

Arden saluted, and rapidly issued the necessary
orders, after which he galloped back.

“Deploy the men as skirmishers, and take charge
of the left, Arden,” the Partisan said; “I will stay
on the right. We are going to be attacked, as the
alarm is given by this time at the camp of the
brigade. Be steady, Arden; hold your ground
I am not going away from here until my men are
buried!”

“You can count on me, captain!” exclaimed the
youth.

“I know it.”

And Landon drew up his men on the hill, the
delighted Arden hastening off to take command of
those on the left.

What followed, exhibited the discernment of the
Partisan. In twenty minutes a dark mass appeared
coming from the direction of Berryville, and all
along the line of sharpshooters resounded the crack
of carbines.

From the summit of the hill I then witnessed a
curious — what the novelists would call a “dramatic”
— spectacle. In the graveyard, near the
great weeping willows, I could perceive the dusky
figures of the men digging the graves of their dead
comrades, while from the field in front came the

incessant report of fire-arms. The enemy were feeling
their way, not knowing the force opposed to
them, and evidently fearing an ambuscade. Their
advance was thus slow, and the steady fire kept up
along his whole front by Landon, evidently puzzled
them. Nearly an hour thus passed. Finally a man
rode up from the graveyard, and reported that the
graves were finished.

“Good!” exclaimed Landon; and galloping to
the spot where Arden was fighting, he said: —

“Keep up a steady fire, lieutenant, and if you
are forced back, retire slowly. I will be back in
fifteen minutes.”

And, requesting me to follow, he turned his horse
and went at a gallop back to the graveyard, the low
wall of which his horse cleared at a bound. The
graves were dug; the three coffins lay beside them.
It was a singular interment I was about to witness
on this moonlight night, with that incessant report
of carbines resounding beyond the crest; those
bullets rattling against the gray old church, or hissing
angrily through the pendant tassels of the weeping
willows.

Landon threw himself from his horse and looked
at the graves. They were wide and deep.

“Good!” he said; “are the ropes ready?”

“All ready, captain,” replied one of the men.

“Lower the coffins!”

The ropes were rapidly inserted beneath them, and
the three coffins deposited in the graves.

Landon had folded his arms, and an expression of
profound sadness veiled the clear light of his dark
eyes. Turning to me, he said: —

“This is hard, colonel. Those people yonder
grudge us even the few feet of earth we occupy in
death; and we are obliged to bury our brave comrades
thus at night, and by stealth. But I do my
best, — the soldier's salute will be fired over their
graves. God will pardon us, I hope, for having no
funeral service read, seeing that we are fighting
yonder to keep off the enemy.”

“I will read the service,” said a low voice behind
us.